Only once during their voyage along the rugged coast of Norway did our three friends go to church! It must not be supposed, however, that therefore they were heathens. Far from it. Fred and his companions were truly Christian men. That is to say, they not only called themselves Christians, but they made it their earnest aim to walk after the example of Christ, and to exhibit their Christianity by their deeds. But only once during their trip had they the opportunity of visiting a church on a Sunday forenoon when service was going on.
It happened to be on a bright calm Sunday. There was just enough of wind to urge the Snowflake through the water at the rate of two miles an hour. Fred’s usual custom was to get to a secure anchorage on Saturdays, so as to be able to spend the Sabbath as a day of rest. But this was not always practicable, because the water was so deep close inshore that no bottom could be found in many places, and often they were obliged to continue their voyage on Sunday. This, however, was a matter of small importance, because the working of the yacht required so little attention—especially in fine weather—that it did not interfere with the services or the rest of the day. Fred made a point of assembling the crew and reading the Church of England service every Sunday forenoon, and a chapter or two from the Bible in the evening.
On the present occasion they were all assembled on the quarterdeck joining in the morning service. The breeze was steady, and the steersman was the only man on duty, but he was not thereby prevented from attending to what was being read. The vessel was gliding along close under a precipice which towered high above the mast, and, at a short distance ahead, extended out in a bold promontory or headland. Elsewhere mountainous islands hemmed them in.
When they reached the promontory Fred was reading that beautiful Psalm, the 95th,—which appeared somewhat appropriate to the occasion.
“O come, let us sing unto the Lord: let us heartily rejoice in the strength of our salvation.
“Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving, and shew ourselves glad in Him with psalms.
“For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods.
“In His hand are all the corners of the earth: and the strength of the hills is His also.
“The sea is His, and He made it: and His hands prepared the dry land.
“O come, let us worship and fall down: and kneel before the Lord our Maker.”
Fred happened to look up at the last words, and an exclamation of wonder broke from him as he pointed towards the shore. The schooner had just doubled the towering promontory, and a new scene had been suddenly opened up to view.
Just beyond the promontory the coast-line took an abrupt bend to the right, at the end of which was a sequestered little bay, with a beach of yellow sand, and a cluster of grassy mounds behind, of the brightest emerald green. The bay and the green mounds and the strip of yellow sand were all exceedingly small, and were surrounded by a mass of rugged rocks of a cold, whitish-grey colour. Beyond these were the great purple mountains of the mainland. Ahead and in front towered the islands of the coast. The whole of the surrounding scenery was wild, rugged, and barren. This one little spot alone was soft and lovely; it shone out like a bright jewel from its dark setting. All round the bay were clustering cottages, with white walls and red roofs,—some on the sides of the mounds, others perched on rocks that projected out into the sea. On the highest of these mounds stood a church, and in the bay floated a large Norwegian vessel and numerous small boats.
The promontory round which the Snowflake had just passed completely sheltered this bay, so that the water was like a sheet of glass, in which everything—boats, rocks, mounds, cottages, and church—was clearly reflected.
The church-bell was ringing. It was a small bell, and its sweet sound came floating softly over the sea to the ears of our voyagers like an old familiar hymn. The interest of this scene was further enhanced by the assembling of the people to church. Boats were seen pushing off from every island, issuing from every creek, rowing over the calm water, and all converging towards the little bay with the yellow strand. Each boat was crowded with men, women, and children; and as the men wore red caps, and the women white kerchiefs on their heads, their appearance was quite brilliant. In other respects, their clothes being all homespun and of one dark colour, their aspect was sombre enough. So numerous were the boats, and so suddenly did they make their appearance, that it seemed as if the land were being invaded by a foreign host.
All this was taken in at a glance by the yacht party as they doubled the promontory, and glided slowly into the bay.
“This is our anchorage,” said the Captain.
“Very well, let go the anchor, and we will finish the service after it is down,” said Temple, rising and taking up the telescope to examine the groups of people on shore.
As each boat discharged its load on the little stone pier, the males and females separated into two distinct bands and walked slowly and sedately towards the church, at the door of which the whole congregation assembled, still keeping in two separate bands, to await the arrival of the clergyman.
In a few minutes the rattle of the chain announced that the anchor was down. The sails were dewed up, and service was continued.
“Now,” said Fred, when he had concluded, “lower the boat, Captain—I will go to church. Will any one of you join me?”
“What’s the use of my going?” said Sam Sorrel; “I won’t understand a word.”
“You’re not sure of that,” said Grant. “Besides it is so long since we’ve been to church, that I feel as if I should enjoy it whether I understand it or not.”
“If it don’t do you no good, sir, it can’t do you no harm,” urged Bob Bowie, who was evidently anxious to get ashore.
“Come along,” cried Fred, jumping into the boat, and taking his seat in the stern-sheets.
He was quickly followed by his companions and by honest Bob, whose delight in a ramble on shore was only equalled by his love for a voyage on the sea!
“Ain’t it an xtroar’nary church, sir?” said Bob, sidling up to Temple and touching his hat, as they ascended the green mound on which the building stood.
“It is, Bob, most remarkable,” replied Fred.
To say truth, there could not be two opinions on this point. The church was of very peculiar and curious form. It was more like a number of dove-cots placed together than anything else; those dove-cots, I mean, which have sloping roofs, and are frequently seen nailed against the sides of houses in country places. Take four such dove-cots and place them back to back so as to form a sort of square; on the top of these place three more dove-cots, also back to back; above these set up two more dove-cots, and one on the top of all, with a short steeple above it, and a spire with an enormous weathercock on the top of that, and the building will not be a bad model of a Norwegian church, especially if you paint the sides white, and the gabled roofs blackish-red.
Inside, this church was found to be exceedingly plain, but very clean. The pews and galleries and walls were of unpainted fir, and the ceiling was whitewashed. The entire building was utterly devoid of ornament, except round the altar, above which there was a large crucifix and a few candles, and other things somewhat resembling those used in Roman Catholic worship.
The service had begun some time before the arrival of our friends. It was a Lutheran church, and the ceremonial resembled that of the English Church in some respects, that of the Roman Catholic in others.
The entrance of so many strangers of course created some sensation, even although they entered as quietly as possible and sat down on the first seats they found vacant. The people seemed to have native politeness in them. They could not, indeed, resist the temptation to look round, but they did it modestly, and only indulged in glances, as if they felt that it was rude to stare at strangers.
Unfortunately Bob Bowie had not been warned that it is the custom in Norway for the men to sit together on one side of the church and the women on the other side, and, being rather a stupid man in some matters, he did not observe that the door by which he entered led to the women’s pews. Being by nature a modest man, he cast down his eyes on entering, and did not again raise them until he found himself seated beside a Norwegian female in a black gown and a white head-dress, with a baby in her arms, which also wore a black gown and a white head-dress. Bob sat with a solemn look on his bluff visage, and wiped his bald forehead gently for some time ere he discovered that he was the only male being in the midst of a crowd of two hundred women and girls and female infants!
On making this discovery honest Bob’s body became exceedingly warm and his face uncommonly red. He glanced round uneasily, blew his nose, rose suddenly, and, putting on his hat with the back to the front, went out of the church on tip-toe as quietly as possible, and was not again seen, until, an hour afterwards, he was discovered seated on the sunny side of a rock near the boat calmly smoking his pipe!
Bob was somewhat ashamed of this little adventure, and did not like to have it spoken of. As a matter of course his comrades did not spare him; but, being the steward of the ship, and having supreme command over the food, he so contrived to punish his messmates that they very soon gave up joking him about his going to church with the Norse girls!
It cannot be said that any of the three friends made much of the sermon that day. Fred understood only a sentence here and there, Grant understood only a word now and then, and Sam Sorrel understood nothing at all; but from the earnestness of the preacher, especially when the name of our Saviour was mentioned, they were inclined to believe that a good work was going on there.
In this opinion they were further strengthened when, on afterwards visiting the pastor, they found him to be a man of singularly kind and earnest disposition, with agreeable and unaffected manners. He wore a long loose robe of black material, and a thick white frill round his neck similar to that usually seen in the portraits of the great Reformer Martin Luther.
His family consisted of a wife and four children—a sturdy boy, and three flaxen-haired girls, all of whom vied with each other in paying attention to their visitors. Coffee was instantly produced, and cakes made by the fair fingers of the goodwife. The pastor could speak a little French, so that his visitors were able to converse with him, but the other members of the family could speak nothing but their native tongue. However, this did not prove a great stumbling-block, for, while Grant talked French with the pastor, Fred entertained his hostess in his best Norse, and Sam Sorrel, not to be behindhand, got the children round him, and made such wonderful use of ver so goot and his other pet phrases, that he succeeded in getting the boy on his knee, and in setting the girls off into giggles of laughter.
They spent that Sunday and the following Monday at this pleasant place, and were taken by the pastor all over his house and grounds and village, after which he conducted them to the summit of a mountain, whence they obtained one of the finest views they had yet seen in Norway.
Here, for the first time since leaving England, they regarded a fair wind with disfavour; they bade adieu to the pastor and his family with a little of that sad feeling which one experiences when parting, perhaps for ever, from dear friends.
But time and the sun would not wait. The anchor was tripped; the sails were spread; in half an hour the place had dwindled away to a bright green spot in the far distance; then they rounded the beetling crags of an island—and it vanished from their view.
One day the Snowflake lay becalmed in one of those long narrow fiords by which the whole of the west coast of Norway is cut up, and some of which extend from seventy to a hundred miles inland.
There was no prospect of a breeze, so another boat excursion was talked of. Hearing this, Hans Ericsson informed his master that there was a small settlement of Laplanders about thirty miles or so inland, and that he would be very glad to guide him and his friends to it if they chose.
They jumped at the proposal at once, and in less than half an hour they were on their way to it. Bob Bowie also went on this expedition.
No carioles could be procured in that wild region, but at a poor fishing-village on the coast they got two of the country carts. These are small rough machines, with a seat on wooden springs. They can hold only two persons, and are light and serviceable, well suited to the rough roads. Fred and Sam led the way; Grant and the steward followed. Hans acted the part of shooscarle to the former, and the owner of the carts drove the latter.
The first start was up the side of a hill at least two thousand feet, and the road was so steep that it was all that the ponies could do to drag up the empty carts. Having gained the top of the first hill, they came upon a level plateau, resembling the bleak Scottish moorlands, which terminated in a range of wild snow-capped mountains. After resting the ponies a few minutes, they set off at a brisk trot, and were soon across the level ground. Ascending to another plateau, they crossed it, and finally reached the higher mountain-range of the interior. Here they crossed several patches of snow which the summer heat had not yet been able to melt away.
As soon as they were fairly amongst the mountains, the roads became horrible, and it was a matter of wonder that the springs of the carts were not broken. Toiling up hills, and dashing down on the other side,—crashing over fallen rocks, and shaving the edge of yawning gulfs and precipices,—thus they advanced till evening, through a country which was the picture of barrenness and desolation.
Rocks were the chief feature of the scenery. They had got to such a height above the level of the sea that there were no pines, only a few stunted birch-trees. There was little soil, but that little was well clothed with vegetation. Rocky mountains, rocky masses, and rocky glens everywhere; but as they went farther inland the scenery improved a little.
Soon they found that instead of travelling inland they had been only crossing one of these broad necks of high land which separate the fords of Norway from each other, and ere long they came in sight of the sea, with precipitous mountains dipping into it.
Here, on a green slope facing the fiord, were seen the conical tents of the strange people whom they had travelled so far to visit.
The inhabitants of Lapland are a distinct race from their southern neighbours the Norwegians, in size, intelligence, civilisation, and manner of life. They are as near as may be savages in appearance, and in some of their habits, insomuch that on first visiting them a stranger might be apt to set them down as real savages. Yet they are many degrees higher than the savage, such as the Red Indian of North America. The Lapp is as dirty as the Indian, and dwells in as poor a hut, and lives in as simple a style; but he is rich in property—his property being herds of reindeer, while the Indian depends entirely on the chase for wealth and subsistence. Then again, although the Lapp has nothing worthy of the name of a house, he is an educated man, to a small extent. He can read, and, above all, he possesses the Word of God in a language which he understands.
In bodily size, however, the Red Indian beats him; for as a race the Lapps are particularly small, though they are well proportioned and active.
They are seldom visited by strangers; and it is not improbable that when the two carts dashed into their village our friends were the first Englishmen they had ever seen.
It happened to rain heavily during the last part of the journey to the Lapp village. To the surprise and amusement of the travellers, Bob Bowie drew forth from his cart a huge red cotton umbrella which he had purchased at Bergen, and which, seeing the sky cloudy, he had brought with him in the hope that he might have occasion to use (that is, to display) it.
The rain, however, did not depress the spirits of the party a whit. Nothing in the shape of water could damp their enthusiasm.
If any one wants to see a poor, ragged, diminutive, wizened, yet jolly race of human beings,—a race of beings who wear hairy garments, sup reindeer’s milk with wooden spoons, and dwell in big bee-hives,—he has only got to go to Lapland and see the Lapps.
Quitting the carts at the outskirts of the village, the travellers advanced into the centre of it just as the natives were driving a herd of reindeer into an enclosure to be milked.
There could not have been fewer than three hundred reindeer-stags, does, and numerous fawns; and these, they afterwards learned, constituted the entire wealth of three families of Lapps.
As Fred and his friends strode into the enclosure, and came upon these good people rather suddenly, their amazement was unspeakable at finding they had bagged a party of giants along with their deer. Even scraggy Sam Sorrel looked quite big compared with them.
After the first gaze and shout of surprise, they crowded round the strangers, and they all—men, women, and children—began to eye and paw them over, and to examine their costumes with deep interest. The diminutive size of the Lapps became very apparent as they were thus engaged. None of the men were much, if at all, above five feet, several were considerably under that height, and the women were short in proportion.
If the bosoms of these Lapps were small, their hearts must certainly have been very large, for they received their visitors with great warmth and delight. Altogether they were a jovial and hearty, though uncommonly ill-dressed race of mortals.
The men were clothed partly in deer-skin, partly in coarse cloth, and these garments were reduced by long service to a uniform dirty-brown colour. They showed signs of being slept in by night as well as worn by day.
There was a schoolmaster amongst them. Only fancy, a Lapp schoolmaster, four feet nine or ten inches high! Sam Sorrel took a sketch of this gentleman on the spot, with his wife and child. What the schoolmaster taught, or whom he taught, or when or where he taught, are questions to which Fred could obtain no answer. To look at him, one would have imagined that eating, sleeping, and herding reindeer were the only lessons that he was able to teach. Yet it was found on inquiry that some of them could read Norse; and Sam actually discovered an old man in one of the huts poring over a New Testament in that language. There seemed something strangely incongruous in all this. They were dirty and uncouth; they had no houses, no tables or chairs, no civilised habits of any kind; yet they could read, and they had a schoolmaster! A very dirty one, to be sure, and not very deeply learned, I dare say; still a dominie, without doubt. On the strength of their acquirements, Fred presented the tribe with a Norse New Testament.
Besides being four feet ten, the schoolmaster was comical and quizzical. He was evidently the wit of his tribe. His face was yellow and dirty; his nose was short and red, in addition to which it was turned up at the point; his eyes were small, and sloped downwards at the inner corners towards the nose, like those of the Chinese. His dirty leathern tunic was belted so low down, and his little legs were so short, that there was considerably more of him above the belt than below it. On his head he wore a cap, somewhat like that of a jockey in shape, and his lower limbs were encased in tight but ill-fitting leggings. Altogether, this man was the most disreputable-looking schoolmaster that was ever seen either at home or abroad.
While both parties were making acquaintance with each other, the rain fell more heavily.
“You’d better put up your umbrella, Bob Bowie,” said Fred.
Bob, who had forgotten the umbrella, in consequence of being so much taken up with the Lapps, at once put it up. Being extremely proud of this curiosity, he was glad of the opportunity to display it. A shout of surprise and delight greeted its appearance. It was clear that the Lapps had never seen one before. The schoolmaster at once seized it out of Bob’s hand, and strutted about with it over his head, to the inexpressible joy of the children, who ran after him and crowded round him. Undoubtedly he must have been a kind schoolmaster. For some time the earnest attention of old and young was entirely given to this umbrella, while they tried to find out how many could get under it at once.
The costume of the women was as rude as that of the men. The schoolmaster’s wife wore a sort of cloth helmet, and a rough yellow cloth gown, which was not by any means too long. Her little girl wore a tight-fitting skull-cap, and another youngster had on a thing much too large for it—like a huge extinguisher, which seemed to be its father’s nightcap.
They were extremely ugly, all of them, but very happy-looking and good-natured.
Of course Fred had taken a few trinkets with him, such as beads, thimbles, scissors, sugar-plums, knives, etcetera; and as every one in the village received something, the whole place resounded with exclamations of joy.
Despite the rain, Sam Sorrel pulled out his sketch-book and began to take portraits. Here was another source of wonder to the Lapps. For some time they knew not what to make of it, but crowded round Sam with looks of inquisitive surprise, and, getting on tip-toe, peeped at his book. When one or two lines had been drawn, exclamations of interest were uttered by one and other; and when in a few minutes, the small youth with his father’s extinguisher on his head became clearly defined on the paper, there was a regular burst of laughter.
Sam instantly received a far greater number of “orders” than he could execute. The stout little woman in the cloth helmet placed herself in an attitude which was no doubt meant to be irresistibly attractive. Several of the youngsters plucked the artist by the sleeve, and thrust forward their pert little faces, as if to say, “Do me!” or “Here’s a chance for you!” and the schoolmaster, promptly clearing a space in front of Sam, placed himself in an attitude, and by his commanding look ordered him to begin at once. He did begin, on the spot and finished the portrait in five minutes—rather a long sitting, considering the state of the weather, and the impatience of the schoolmaster to see himself on canvas!
While this was going on in one quarter, Bob Bowie had attracted round him a circle of warm admirers, whose souls he captivated by showing and explaining to them the interior of his watch. As the lecture was delivered in English, it is not to be supposed that the audience profited much by means of their ears, but their eyes did double duty that day; at least one might reasonably suppose so, from the immense size to which they were constantly expanded!
They evidently did not know whether to regard the watch as a mechanical contrivance or a living creature. In the study of this mysterious thing they were somewhat distracted by the presence of their first love the umbrella, which the lecturer had erected over his head in order to shield his timepiece from the rain. Fred and Grant went about everywhere, looking at everything, and talking, as they best could, to everybody.
Meanwhile the three hundred deer, in the midst of which they had been standing all this time, kept moving about the enclosure, emitting a peculiar grunting sound, and making a strange clicking noise with their ankle-joints. This is a well-known peculiarity of the reindeer. Every time they lift or set down their feet, the ankle-joints crack as do the knuckles of a man when he pulls his fingers. As these deer were constantly getting up and lying down, the twittering rattle of their ankle-joints was unceasing.
Presently the schoolmaster’s wife took a small wooden cup, milked one of the does, and handed the proceeds to Fred. He was surprised to find the milk as thick and as pleasant to the taste as the richest cream; and he was still more surprised to be told that all that could be got from a doe at any one time was about half a tea-cupful.
The deer varied in colour from dark brown to almost white. The stags stood about three feet eight inches high at the shoulder, and the antlers were about three feet long, following the curve.
Quitting the enclosure, the party next visited several of the huts,—which were made of moss, turf, sticks, etcetera, put together in such a confused way, that it was difficult to make out how they had been formed. A hole in the side was the only door to each hut, and a hole in the top was the window and chimney. In one of these they found an extremely old woman seated on a pile of dirty deerskins. Sam Sorrel said he was convinced she was the schoolmaster’s great-grandmother. She looked like a living mummy, so small and wrinkled and brown and dried up was the poor old body. Yet she was lively enough to show signs of pleasure when Fred patted her back gently and presented her with a pair of scissors and a pair of worsted gloves.
It was a late hour before the curiosity of our friends was satisfied; the sun was dipping low on the horizon when at last they bade adieu to the Lapps, and harnessing their ponies, set out on the return journey. The way was long, and their eyes were heavy. They tried by means of conversation and song to keep themselves awake, but were unsuccessful. Despite their utmost efforts their heads would nod, and brief little dreams kept perpetually reminding them of Laplanders, dirty little schoolmasters, and reindeer.
Now, while Fred was nodding in his cart, and trying to keep awake that night, he little thought that he was so nearly attaining the great object for which he had come to Norway. Yet so it was. They came, in course of time, to the summit of a ridge from which could be had a splendid view of the fiord, and the sea with its thousands of islands beyond, and the Snowflake floating like a white speck on the blue water far below. Here Hans pulled up and touched Fred on the shoulder.
“Well, Hans, anything wrong?” said Fred starting and looking round.
“Sun not set here,” replied Hans with a grin.
“What!” cried Fred, jumping out of the cart, rubbing his eyes, and staring at the great luminary which was dipping close to the sea. “Impossible! we are not yet far enough north. You must be mistaken, Hans.”
To this Hans replied that he was not mistaken. That he had been on that same spot at the same time of the year long ago, and had noticed that the sun had not descended below the horizon. Pointing to the sharp top of a hill that rose some six or eight hundred feet close beside them, he said that from that point the sun would be seen complete, while from the place where they then stood the lower part of it would be hid below the horizon.
“Hallo! Grant Sam, d’ye hear that?” shouted Fred with enthusiasm. “We’ve no time to lose, quick, follow!”
Away Fred Temple went up the mountain-side like a deer, followed by Sam and Grant, who having been more than half-asleep when aroused by their comrade’s shout, scarce knew what they were about. Even Bob Bowie’s spirit was stirred, and he went stumbling after his friends rubbing his eyes and yawning as he went.
The highest peak was soon reached. Here they sat down to watch. The sun was close upon the horizon now, and Fred’s heart beat fast with anxiety lest it should descend below it.
“There’s but a narrow line of sky between the sea and the lower edge of the sun now,” said Fred. “It looks no more than an inch broad, and it is narrowing, I think.”
“No, it is growing broader,” said Grant.
“No, narrower,” whispered Sam.
“Broader it is!” said Fred eagerly.
For a few seconds they remained uncertain and silent, gazing earnestly at the sun. At last there could be no doubt of it. The line of sky was evidently broader: the sun had begun to rise without having set.
“Huzzah,” shouted Fred Temple, springing up, tossing his cap into the air, and cheering as enthusiastically as if he had just discovered a new gold-field! Infected with the same spirit, the others joined him, and then they expended their energies in building a cairn of stones on the hill-top to commemorate the event!
“Hans, thou son of Eric,” said Fred, grasping the hand of his pilot and guide when this was finished. “I like thee, man; thou hast done me good service this day. But for you I should have missed this chance, so I consider myself thy debtor, lad; mark me well, I will discharge this debt when we return to the south. So now, let us be gone.”
How Fred discharged this debt remains to be seen. Meanwhile the party descended the hill, and returned once more to their floating home.
The main object of the voyage having now been gained, Fred Temple did not care to push northward with the earnest haste that he had hitherto exhibited. He did, indeed, avail himself of a fine southerly breeze which sprang up, and succeeded in reaching latitude 67 and a half degrees, where he saw the sun all night from the deck of his little yacht; but he devoted himself henceforth to enjoying the country fully.
He no longer sailed against baffling winds, but went quite contentedly in any direction in which the wind chose to blow him. The consequence was that he visited many curious out-of-the-way places, and saw many strange sights; besides having a considerable number of peculiar adventures. The week following that in which he first saw the sun all night was particularly full of small adventures. Let me briefly relate a few.
One day, having left the schooner becalmed close to the mainland, they took the boat and rowed towards the land. While they were pulling along-shore under a tremendous cliff that rose out of the sea like a wall, they heard voices on the top of the cliff. The top was lined with bushes, so that they could see no one, but the sounds led them to suppose that some persons were disputing there. Presently a crash was heard, and, looking up, they beheld a dark object in the air. They had just time to observe that this object was a pony and cariole, which had evidently fallen from the top of the cliff, when they were drenched with spray, and a mass of foam indicated the spot not three yards off, where the whole affair had disappeared beneath the waves! In a few seconds the pony came kicking to the surface. It had broken loose from the cariole, and, strange to say, reached the shore unhurt and in safety.
Another day they saw a whale. It may not, perhaps, have occurred to many people that, although a whale is a very well-known fish, and his picture extremely familiar to us, the sight of a live whale about six or eight yards under one’s feet is an uncommonly startling and impressive vision. Such a sight our voyagers saw while sailing up the Skars Fiord.
It was a calm day, and a pleasant day withal; and I think it right to state that, although they did at times grumble at prolonged calms, their grumbling was more than half feigned; while their gratitude for good weather, bright days, not to mention nights, and pleasant scenes, was sincere. But, to return to the point, it was a calm day, and they were doing nothing—that is, nothing worthy of mention. The waters of the fiord were deep and blue and clear, so that, looking over the side of the yacht, they could see very far down in reality—countless fathoms in imagination—into the mysterious abyss.
Presently some one cried, “Hullo! look there!”
“Hullo! look where?” inquired all the rest.
“There, close astern, it’s a—a—”
“Whale!” shouted the whole ship’s company.
That it really was a whale, and a big one too, became very apparent three minutes later, for it thrust a great blunt nose, like the end of a large boat, out of the water, and gave a prolonged puff. A few minutes later, and the nose appeared close off the starboard bow, then it came up not far from the larboard quarter; so they were convinced that the creature was taking a survey of the yacht. Perhaps it took it for another whale, and felt inclined to be social. After one or two circuits it drew nearer, and at last the huge fish could be seen as if in the depths of a bad looking-glass, swimming round and round the yacht, ever and anon coming to the surface, and showing the whole length and depth of its bulky body.
They were considerably excited, as may be supposed, at such an unexpected visit, and the near approach of such a visitant. As they gazed at him with eager eyes, he suddenly turned his head straight towards the side of the vessel, and, sinking down sufficiently to clear the keel, dived right under it, and came up on the other side.
So clear was the water, and so near was the fish to the surface, that they saw its great fins driving it along, and observed its comparatively little eyes looking inquisitively up at them. On clearing the yacht he came to the surface not more that thirty yards from the side. In fact he had shaved it as near as possible without actually touching. “Familiarity breeds contempt,” saith the proverb. The longer this whale played round them, the more did he exhibit a growing tendency to play with them, and as there was no saying what fancies he might take into his great head, Fred resolved to give him a shot.
Accordingly, the rifle—a double-barrel—was brought up, and, watching his opportunity, Fred put two leaden balls into the back of his head. The insulted monster wisely took the hint, gave a final flourish of his tail, and disappeared for ever!
On another occasion they landed at the head of a remote fiord, where the natives seldom had the chance of seeing strangers, and were, therefore, overjoyed to receive them. Here Sam Sorrel had a small adventure. His companions had left him to sketch. While thus engaged, a fat, hearty, good-natured fellow found him and insisted on him paying a visit to his cottage. The houses of the people in Norway, generally, are built of wood, and are roofed with red tiles. Floors, walls, ceilings, tables, chairs, beds, etcetera, all are of wood, and usually unpainted. All have iron stoves for winter use; no carpets cover the floors, and no ornaments grace the walls, save one or two prints, and a number of large tobacco-pipes, for the Norsemen are great smokers and chewers of tobacco.
The language here perplexed our artist not a little. Being a lazy student, he had left Fred to do all the talking, but now he found himself for the first time alone with a Norwegian! fairly left to his own resources. Well, he accompanied his fat friend, and began by stringing together all the Norse he knew (which wasn’t much), and endeavoured to look as if he knew a great deal more; but his speech quickly degenerated into sounds which were quite unintelligible either to his new friend or himself; at last he terminated in a mixture of bad Norse and broad Scotch! Having dwelt many years in Scotland, Sam found his knowledge of Lowland Scotch to be of use, for there is great similarity between it and the Norwegian tongue.
For instance, they call a cow a ko or a coo. Bring me meen skoe (I spell as pronounced) is, Bring me my shoes. Gae til land is, Go ashore. Tak place is, Take place, or sit down. If you talk of bathing, they will advise you to dook oonder; and should a mother present her baby to you she will call it her smook barn, her pretty bairn or child, smook being the Norse word for pretty. And it is a curious fact, worthy of particular note, that all the mothers in Norway think their bairns smook, very smook! and they never hesitate to tell you so; why, I cannot imagine, unless it be that if you were not told, you would not be likely to find it out for yourself.
Well, Sam and his fat friend soon became very amicable on this system. The Norseman told him no end of stories, of which he did not comprehend a sentence, but, nevertheless, looked as if he did; smiled, nodded his head, and said “Ya, ya,” (yes, yes), to which the other replied “Ya, ya,” waving his arms, slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes as he bustled along towards his dwelling.
The house was perched on a rock, close to the water’s edge. It was very small, quite like a bandbox with windows in it. Here the man found another subject to rave about and dance round, in the shape of his own baby, a soft, smooth copy of himself, which lay sleeping like a cupid in its cradle. The man was evidently very fond—perhaps even proud—of this infant. He went quite into ecstasies about it; now gazing into its chubby face with looks of pensive admiration; anon starting and looking at Sam with eager glance, as if to say, “Did you ever, in all your life, see such a magnificent cherub?” His enthusiasm was quite catching. Sam afterwards confessed that he actually began to feel quite a fatherly interest in the cherub.
“Oh!” cried the father in rapture, “dat er smook barn” (that’s a pretty baby).
“Ya, ya,” said Sam, “smook barn,” though it must be confessed that if he had called it a smoked bairn he would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brown as a red herring.
In proof of his admiration of this baby our artist made a sketch of it on the spot, and presented it to the delighted father, after which he was introduced to the Norseman’s wife, and treated to a cup of coffee. When Sam returned from this visit, he told his companions that he was quite amazed at having got on so well with the language, and was warm in praise of his host, who, he said, laughed more heartily than any man he had ever met with. It is just possible that the Norseman may have had more occasion afforded him for laughter than usual, for Sam had waxed very talkative, and had been particularly profuse in the use and abuse of his pet phrase, ver so goot.
Soon after this the yacht’s head was turned into the Nord Fiord, at the head of which dwelt the father and mother of Hans Ericsson. Here Hans, to his unutterable delight, found the fair Raneilda on a visit to her mother; for Raneilda was a native of that remote valley, and had gone to Bergen only a year before this time.
Here, too, Sam Sorrel found splendid scenery to paint, and Grant obtained numerous specimens of birds for his museum.
This reminds me, by the way, that our naturalist, who was amiable and eccentric, on one occasion nearly drove his comrades out of the yacht. One day he shot a young unfledged gull or puffin, or some such creature, whose brief existence had only conducted it the length of a down coat, a little round body, and a pair of tremendously long legs. Well, this object was laid carefully past (sic) in a spare berth of the yacht, in which they used to stow away all manner of useless articles—chairs and stools that had broken their legs, etcetera—and which went by the name of the infirmary in consequence. About a week after, there was a most unaccountable smell in the infirmary. Several stuffed birds hanging there were suspected and smelt, but were found to be quite fresh. One or two of them were put out to air, but still the smell grew worse and worse, until the most obtuse nose did not dare to go near the infirmary. At last they became desperate. A general and thorough investigation was instituted, and there, in a dark corner, under a hair mattress, and flat as a pancake, lay the poor puffin, alive!—but not with the life wherewith it had lived before it was shot—and emitting an odour that is indescribable, a description of which, therefore, would be quite unprofitable. The puffin was pitched overboard, and it was half insinuated that they ought to pitch the naturalist overboard along with it!
At the head of this fiord, also, Fred Temple, to his inexpressible joy, found a mighty river in which were hundreds of salmon that had never yet been tempted by the angler with gaudy fly, though they had been sometimes wooed by the natives with a bunch of worms on a clumsy cod-hook. Thus both Fred and Hans found themselves in an earthly paradise. The number of splendid salmon that were caught here in a couple of weeks was wonderful; not to mention the risks run, and the adventures. Space will only permit of one or two examples being given.
On the day of their arrival, Fred seized his rod, and taking Hans to gaff the fish and show him the river, sallied forth, accompanied by about a score of natives, chiefly men and boys, who were eager to see the new style of fishing. They soon came to a fine-looking part of the stream, and Fred put together his rod. He was much amused at the looks of the men when they saw the thin supple point of the rod. They shook their heads gravely, and said, “He cannot hold a big fish with that.” They were right so far, but they did not understand the use of the reel and the running line. Presently Fred cast, and almost immediately a large salmon took his fly, the rod bent like a hoop, and the reel whizzed furiously as the line ran out.
Sam Sorrel, who was there at the time, afterwards said that he was divided between interest in the movements of the fish, and amusement at the open mouths and staring eyes of the natives.
This fish was a very active one; it dashed up, down, and across the river several times, running out nearly the whole of the line more than once, and compelling Fred to take to the water as deep as his waist. At last, after a fight of half an hour, it was brought close to the bank, and Hans put the gaff-hook cleverly into its side, and hauled it ashore, amid the shouts of the astonished people, for the salmon weighed eighteen pounds.
After a time the natives began to understand the principles of fly-fishing with a rod, and regarded Fred Temple with deep respect. On all his fishing excursions in that fiord, he was attended by a band of eager admirers, to whom he gave most of the fish; for he caught so many of all sizes that his friends and his crew were not able to eat the quarter of them. The catching of his largest salmon was a stirring incident.
It happened on the evening of a very bright day. He had been unfortunate. The sun being too bright, the fish would not rise. This annoyed him much, because on that particular day he had been accompanied by the Captain and Bob Bowie, as well as his two companions, all of whom were anxious to see him catch fish, and learn a lesson in the art. Fred was up to his middle in a rough part of the river. It was all he could do to retain his foothold, the water was so strong.
“It won’t do,” said he, “the sun is too bright.”
His friends on shore looked grave and disappointed.
“I sees a cloud a-comin’,” said Bob Bowie glancing upwards.
“Hallo! hey!” shouted Grant, who observed that at that moment Fred’s legs had been swept from under him, and he was gone!
Before any one could speak or act, Fred reappeared a little farther down the river, holding tight to the rod, and staggering into shallower water.
“None the worse of it,” cried Fred, bursting into a laugh.
Just as he said this, and while he was paying no attention to his rod, a salmon rose and seized the fly. In an instant Fred and his comrades utterly forgot all about the ducking, and were filled with the excitement of the sport.
Fred’s rod bent like a willow wand. His eyes seemed to flash, and his lips were tightly pressed together, for he felt that he had on a very large fish. Suddenly it darted up stream, and did what the large fish seldom do—leaped quite out of the water.
“A whale! stand by!” roared Bob Bowie.
There was a cry from the others, for at that moment the salmon set off down stream,—a most dangerous proceeding at all times. Fred made for the bank, and let out line as fast as possible. When he gained the bank he ran down the stream, leaping over bushes and stones like a wild goat. The places he went over in that run were terribly rugged. It seemed a miracle that he escaped without broken bones. Presently he came to a steep rock that projected into the water. There was no getting round it, so in he dashed. It took him only up to the knees. This passed, he came to another place of the same sort. Here he put a strain on the fish, and tried to stop it. But it was not to be stopped. It had clearly made up its mind to go right down to the sea. Fred looked at the pool, hesitated one moment, and then leaped in. It took him up to the neck, and he was carried down by the current fifty yards or so, when his feet caught bottom again, and he managed to raise his rod, fully expecting to find that the salmon had broken off. But it was still on, and lively. Meanwhile, his comrades on the bank were keeping pace with him, shouting and yelling with excitement as they ran.
“The rapid, mind the rapid!” roared Grant.
Fred saw a foaming rapid before him. He became anxious. It was dangerous to venture down this. If he should touch a rock on the way down, the chances were that he would get a limb broken. The banks here were so thickly covered with bushes that it was impossible to pass. The fish still held on its headlong course. “What shall I do?” thought Fred. “If I stop he will break all to pieces, and I shall lose him. Lose him! no, never!”
“Don’t venture in, Fred,” shrieked Sam Sorrel.
But the advice came too late. Fred was already in the foaming current. In a moment he was swept down into the comparatively still water below the rapid. His friends lost sight of him, for they had to run round through the bushes. When they got to the foot of the rapid, they found Fred on the bank, panting violently, and holding tight to the rod, for the salmon had stopped there, and was now “sulking” at the bottom of a deep hole. For a full hour did the fisher labour to pull him out of that hole in vain; for in this kind of fishing nothing can be done by main force. The great beauty of the art consists in getting the salmon to move, and in humouring his movements, so that you tire him out, and get him gradually close to your side.
At last the fish came out of the deep pool. Then there was another short struggle of quarter of an hour, and the fisher’s perseverance and skill were rewarded. The salmon at last turned up its silvery side. Fred drew it slowly to the bank (in breathless anxiety, for many a fish is lost at this point). Hans struck the gaff in neatly, and with a huge effort flung it floundering on the bank, amid the hearty cheers of all present.
This salmon weighed 34 pounds, and was about four feet long! It was a magnificent fish, and it may well be believed that Fred Temple did not grudge the two hours’ battle, and the risk that he had run in the catching of it.
“Sam Sorrel,” said Fred Temple one day to his friend while they were seated at breakfast in the house of a farmer of the Nord Fiord, “we have been here more than a fortnight now; we have enjoyed ourselves much, have had good sport of various kinds, and have laid in a stock of health and wisdom, it is to be hoped, that will last us for some time to come.”
“That sounds very much like the beginning of a formal speech,” said Grant.
“Hold your tongue, Grant,” retorted Temple, “I have not yet done. As I have said, we have been successful in gaining the ends for which we came here. We have seen the sun rise without setting. Sam Sorrel has filled a large portfolio with beautiful sketches of, perhaps, the finest scenery in Europe. Grant has shot and stuffed I am afraid to say how many birds of all kinds, besides making a large collection of rare plants; and Fred Temple has caught about five hundred pounds’ weight of salmon—not to mention hundreds of trout—”
“Good,” said Sam, “and very correctly stated. You are fit for the House of Commons, my friend.”
“Sam, be silent!—Now this being the case, it is time that we should think of returning to our native land. I will, therefore, make arrangements for setting sail in two or three days. But before leaving I will bring to a point a little plot which I have been hatching ever since I landed in Norway. I won’t tell you what it is just yet, but I must have your help, Sam.”
“Command my services, sir,” said Sam, with a wave of his hand. “I am your servant, your Eastern slave, ready, if need be, to prostrate myself in the earth and rub my nose in the dust.”
“Good. I accept your offer,” said Fred, “and my first command is, that you take your brushes and paint me a Norwegian bride in the course of this forenoon!”
“Why, your orders cannot be obeyed,” cried Sam in surprise. “Where am I to find a bride on such short notice? You are more unreasonable than the most tyrannical of sultans.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Fred calmly, “I issue my commands, and in order to relieve your mind of anxiety, I will find a bride for you.”
“Where, then, is this bride, O wizard?” asked Sam with a laugh.
“Behold her!” cried Fred, starting up and throwing open the door, from which could be seen the shore and the fiord with its background of noble hills.
Sam and Grant started up with sudden exclamations, and stared at the object which met their gaze in speechless wonder. And truly there was cause for astonishment; for there, on the shore, close to the water’s edge, stood the fair Raneilda, clothed in the gorgeous costume of a Norwegian bride.
“Assuredly you are a wizard,” cried Grant, glancing at his friend.
“Not so,” replied Fred. “I met sweet Raneilda last night at her father’s cottage, and begged of her to come here at a certain hour this morning in the costume of a bride, in order that my friend the artist might paint her. She hesitated and blushed a good deal at first, but at length she agreed, and, as you see, is punctual in keeping her appointment.”
Fred now went down to Raneilda, and brought her up to the house; Sam Sorrel at once placed her in a good position, seized his brushes, and began the portrait.
He was delighted with the dress, for it glittered with gold and silver ornaments. The crown was of pure silver covered with gold. The breastplate was red cloth ornamented with silver-gilt brooches, beads of various colours, silver chains, and small, round looking-glasses. There was also a belt ornamented with gold and silver. Altogether Raneilda looked much more like the Queen of Norway than a poor peasant girl!
It is necessary to inform the reader that the greater part of this costume did not belong to the girl. In fact it did not belong to any one in particular. It is the custom in Norway for each district to have a marriage-dress for general use. The crown, the breastplate, and the belt are public property, and may be hired out by the girls who are about to be married at a few shillings for each occasion.
While Sam was busy with his portrait, Grant went out to search for plants, and Fred went off to search for Hans and to carry out the remainder of his plot. He soon found the young pilot.
“Hans,” said he, “follow me, I wish to speak with you.”
Hans was quite willing to follow Fred to the moon if he had chosen to lead the way.
“I am going to show you a very pretty sight, Hans; step this way. Here, in this room.”
He threw open the door and led him in. The young Norseman entered with a smile, but the smile suddenly vanished, his blue eyes opened to their utmost width, and he stood rooted to the floor, unable to speak!
“Tuts! what means this?” cried Sam in disgust at being interrupted.
“Raneilda!” gasped her lover.
The bride covered her face with her hands.
“Very good! excellent!” exclaimed Grant who chanced to pass at the moment, and peeped in at the open window.
“Hurrah!” cried Bob Bowie, who just then came up to announce that the Snowflake was ready for sea.
“She won’t be wanted for some days yet,” cried Fred bursting into a fit of laughter as he seized Hans by the arm, dragged him into another room, and shut the door.
“Now, Hans,” said he earnestly, “I am going to pay you off. Nay, man, be not cast down, I did not take you into yonder room to mock you, but to show you how pretty Raneilda looked in her bridal dress.”
Fred paused for a moment, and the Norseman sighed and shook his head.
“You must know,” resumed Fred, “that I wish to dance at your wedding, Hans, and in order that I may do so, I mean to have you married at once. (Hans stared.) You told me in Bergen that you wanted some sort of work that would bring you good pay. (Hans nodded his head.) Well, I will give you a hundred dollars for the time you have been with me.”
Hans’ face brightened, and he shook hands with Fred, according to Norwegian custom when a gift is presented, or a generous payment made.
“Now,” continued Fred, “did you not tell me that two hundred dollars would enable you to take your father’s farm off his hands? (Hans nodded again.) And is Raneilda willing to marry you when you can afford to ask her? (Hans nodded this time, very decidedly.) Well, Hans, I have been very much pleased with the way in which you have conducted yourself while in my service; you have done your duty well. (Hans smiled and looked happy.) But you have done more than that. (Hans looked surprised.) You have been the means of enabling me to see the sun all night at a time when I should otherwise have missed it. I owe you something for that. Moreover, you pulled me out of that rapid by the neck when I caught the twenty-eight pound salmon, and so, perhaps, were the means of saving my life; and certainly you saved me that salmon. For all this, and for many other good deeds, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Now, Hans, you must know that it is impossible to pay a debt of gratitude in full, for, however much you may pay, there is always something more owing. (Hans looked puzzled.) This debt, then, I cannot pay up at once, but I can prove to you that I consider myself your debtor by making you a present of another hundred dollars. Here is the money, my lad, so go and tell Raneilda to get ready as soon as possible!”
Hans stared in wonder and unbelief, first at the money, then at Fred. Then a look of triumph gleamed in his eyes, and he seized Fred’s hand and wrung it. Then he uttered a shout, and ran to Raneilda and kissed her. Fred kissed her too. Sam Sorrel and Grant, not knowing exactly what to do, kissed her also; and Bob Bowie, who was under the belief that they were all mad, made a grasp at the poor girl but missed her, for Raneilda was overwhelmed with confusion, and ran nimbly out of the room, leaving her crown behind her! Hans Ericsson hastily picked it up and ran after her, leaving Fred Temple to explain things to his astonished friends as he best could.
So that was the end of that matter.
But that was by no means the end of the whole affair. Before the Snowflake left the fiord, Hans and Raneilda were married, as all true lovers ought to be.
The fair bride was once again decked out in the queen-like garments which had formerly filled Sam and Grant with so great surprise and admiration; and Fred, as he had promised, danced at the Norseman’s wedding. And not only did Fred dance, but so did his friends—ay, and his whole ship’s crew. And it would have done your heart good, reader, to have seen the way in which the Jack-tars footed it on that occasion on the green grass, and astonished the Norsemen. But it must also be told that the Norsemen were not a whit behindhand, for they showed the tars a number of capers and new steps which they had never before seen or even dreamed of!
Just before the ball began there was heard a sound resembling the yells of an exceedingly young pig in its dying agonies. This was a violin. It was accompanied by a noise somewhat like to the beating of a flour-mill, which was found to proceed from the heel of the fiddler, who had placed a wooden board under his left foot. Thus he beat time, and a drum, as it were, at once. He also beat Paganini and all other fiddlers hollow. Round this manufacturer of sweet sounds did the lads and lasses flock and soon gave evidence of their sympathy with the rest of mankind by beginning to dance.
Certainly elegance is not a characteristic of the Norwegian peasantry! Having formed a ring, they went to work with the utmost gravity and decorum. Scarcely a laugh was heard! nothing approaching to a shout during the whole evening. The nature of their dances was utterly incomprehensible. The chief object the young men had in view seemed to be to exhibit their agility by every species of bound and fling of which the human frame is capable, including the rather desperate feat of dashing themselves flat upon the ground. The principal care of the girls seemed to be to keep out of the way of the men, and avoid being killed by a frantic kick or felled by a random blow.
But the desperate features in each dance did not appear at once. Each man began by seizing his partner and dragging her recklessly round the circle, ever and anon twirling her round violently with one arm, and catching her round the waist with the other, in order apparently to save her from total destruction. To this treatment the fair damsels submitted for some time with downcast eyes and pleased yet bashful looks. Then the men seemed to fling them off and go at it entirely on their own account, yet keeping up a sort of revolving course round their partners, like satellites encircling their separate suns. Presently the men grew furious; rushed about the circle in wild erratic courses, leaped into the air, and while in that position slapped the soles of their feet with both hands!
Then they became a little more sane, and a waltz, or something like it, was got up. It was quite pretty, and some of the movements graceful; but the wild spirit of the glens seemed to re-enter them again rather suddenly. The females were expelled from the ring altogether, and the young men braced themselves for a little really heavy work; they dashed, flung, and hurled themselves about like maniacs, stood on their heads and walked on their hands; in short, became a company of acrobats, yet always kept up a sort of sympathetic attempt at time with the fiddler, who went on pounding his wooden board with his left heel and murdering an inconceivable multitude of young pigs with a degree of energy that was only equalled by that of those to whom he fiddled.
But not a man, woman, or child there gave vent to his or her feelings in laughter. They smiled, they commented in a soft tone, they looked happy; nay, they were happy, but they did not laugh! Once only did they give way a little, and that was when an aspiring youth, after having nearly leaped down his own throat, walked round the circle on his hands.
Even Tittles danced that day! He danced in and out among the feet of the dancers in a most perplexing manner, and got his unhappy toes and his unfortunate tail trod upon to a terrible extent. But Tittles did not seem to mind. It is true that he gave a yelp of pain on each occasion, but he instantly forgave the offender if he looked at all sorry. Upon the whole Tittles was the cause of much noise, no little confusion, and great amusement at that celebrated wedding.
Thus did Fred Temple and his friends spend their last day in Norway.
At midnight they set sail for Old England. On rising next morning they found themselves far out among the islands of the coast. Soon after that they were out of sight of land,—heaving on the swell of the ocean, thinking over the varied and stirring scenes of the past three months with a sort of feeling that it must have been all a dream, and wishing heartily that they were still away in the far north, enjoying the endless daylight and—Chasing the Sun.